


Breakfast Is Served

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food Sex, M/M, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-28
Updated: 2007-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean can cook, a skill acquired after many years of Pop-Tarts and macaroni, but he doesn’t often choose to display this skill, at least not on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast Is Served

Dean _can_ cook, a skill acquired after many years of Pop-Tarts and macaroni, but he doesn’t often choose to display this skill, at least not on the road. So Sam is surprised when he wakes up to the smell of ham and eggs. He rubs his eyes, disoriented until he remembers they’re at Bobby’s, feeding the dogs while he visits a sister dying of lung cancer. He stretches slowly, slides his feet off the long bed to the floor. He pads across the rug, suddenly aware of how hungry he is.

In the kitchen Dean is slicing a tomato, bright red against the textured wood of the cutting board. Sam’s mouth waters as the juice and seeds leak out—he can almost taste the salty tang. He licks his lips and coughs slightly. Dean looks up, a smile touching his lips.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says dryly, his voice just husky enough to make Sam’s knees weak.

“You’re cooking?” Sam asks stupidly, because he can’t help himself from asking stupid questions. He’s skipping a groove looking at Dean’s smile, smelling the food, knowing that they’re not staying in a hotel or at someone’s house. No one can hear them and no one will ask questions. This time is theirs.

Dean scans the plates of eggs and ham, two biscuits on each one. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” he says, “but I’m not sure I want eggs for breakfast now.”

“Maybe you should have made sausages,” Sam suggests innocently, smiling in a way that he knew would drive Dean over the edge.

“Or maybe I’ll have to make do with what’s in front of me,” Dean answers, his voice no longer seductive but possessive. He stares pointedly at Sam’s crotch. Sam sleeps in his underwear, and it’s already obvious that he has an erection.

“But I’m hungry too,” Sam pouts, clearly whining on purpose.

“You’re hungry?” Dean asks, amused. Sam nods coyly.

“I want some tomato,” he announces, licking his lips. He knows that his lips aren’t as full as Dean’s, but he also suspects that it won’t matter, not when his brother is already tenting his loose jeans.

Dean slides the half-sliced tomato onto the kitchen counter, picking up the untouched half and holding it to his brother’s mouth. Sam bites down on the tomato, juice running down his chin. He chews slowly, smelling and tasting it. It’s ripe.

Dean puts the tomato, minus one bite, back on the counter as Sam swallows. “Strip,” he orders, a light dancing in his green eyes.

Sam shakes his head, a secret half-smile on his face. “What if I don’t want to?” he asks smoothly, hoping Dean knows what he’s driving at.

Dean growls low in his throat, then picks up the cutting board and smiles with a truly evil smirk. Sam’s mildly shocked—he hadn’t anticipated his brother having anything around to _use on him,_ but Dean is nothing if not resourceful. Before he can register this, maybe beg for his brother to go easy on him with a tremble in his voice, he’s bent over the counter and Dean’s fingers are wrapped around his waistband, pulling his underwear to his knees.

“You little tease,” Dean breathes in his ear, loving every second of it. “You little _slut._ ”

“What are you going to do about it?” Sam taunts, even though it’s fairly obvious what Dean’s going to do. He can still taste the tomato, catch a glimpse of it lying beside him on the counter. But all of that is secondary as the heavy cutting board smacks into his backside.

“Owww! Deeeean,” he whimpers, “that hurrrrrts.” It doesn’t really, just a mild sting. Dean’s going easy on him, because the cutting board is so heavy, but Sam instinctively knows he should be begging.

“You deserve it,” Dean says in that thrillingly low voice. “You deserve it, don’t you, bitch?” He smacks Sam again, still too light.

“Ouch! Yessss,” Sam agrees.

“And why do you deserve it?’ Dean asks, running a finger up Sam’s spine and turning him to jelly. “Why do you deserve this, Sam?” He brings the cutting board down again.

The stings are starting to add up, and the quiver in Sam’s voice isn’t entirely false as he gives the expected answer. “Because I’m a naughty tease,” he responds.

“That’s right,” Dean says, and Sam hears the wooden board being placed back on the counter.

“Now how about my breakfast?” Dean asks, taking Sam’s arm and tugging him around.

Sam knows that Dean isn’t talking about the food growing cold just to the left of him, or the tomato slices that happen to be _his_ personal favorite. His underwear slides all the way to the floor as Dean kneels, right there in the kitchen, and he wonders why Dean doesn’t cook more often.


End file.
